


Retrospective

by kathryne



Category: Doctor Who (2005)
Genre: F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2010-07-21
Updated: 2010-07-21
Packaged: 2017-10-10 17:39:00
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,553
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/102348
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/kathryne/pseuds/kathryne
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>It takes River her whole life to come to terms with everything the Doctor knows about her.  Spoilers for 4.08/4.09.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Retrospective

**Author's Note:**

> Written for this prompt by [lady_leonida](http://lady_leonida.livejournal.com) at Spoilers! A River Song Ficathon:  
> _Nothing is so good it lasts eternally  
> Perfect situations must go wrong  
> But this has never yet prevented me  
> Wanting far too much for far too long  
> Looking back I could have played it differently  
> Won a few more moments who can tell  
> But it took time to understand the man  
> Now at least I know I know him well_

It starts off subtly.

He's always understood how to touch her, where to tease so that she nearly forgets her own name, much less his. And then one night she has to show him, moves his hand with a murmured "There, oh, yes," and comes apart in his arms. It's only later, drifting into sleep with the rhythm of his two hearts beneath her cheek, that she realizes, _this will keep happening_. Everything that he knows about her he will have to learn, sometime, be it her favourite colour of lingerie or her embarrassingly stubborn allergy to Old Earth peanuts.

Someday he won't know anything about her at all.

The thought terrifies her; she rolls away from him, shaking, and clutches a pillow to her chest. Someday he'll look at her and see only another human face and not what's behind it.

She stares into the darkness for a long time, until he shifts in his sleep and lays a hand on her hip. The familiarity of the touch reassures her; she must really make an impression on him for them to end up like this, she reasons, and falls asleep pondering the fun she'll have teaching him some of the new tricks he'd taught her.

Still, the next time she meets him she's on guard, moving cautiously, not wanting to see the light of surprise in his eyes. He's his usual insufferable self, though, and she relaxes into their familiar banter gratefully. Every time he touches her, whether in passing or while they're running for their lives, she feels a rush of joy. They love each other, she thinks; surely that can't be forgotten.

Three normal visits later, they bump into each other in the twenty-ninth century. When she leans into his personal space, his eyes dart away and he fiddles with his braces and talks too loudly, and she recoils. This is early days for him; he knows her but he doesn't _know_ her, and he certainly doesn't love her.

She brazens through, taking pleasure in knowing him almost more than he does, trying to outshine him and everyone else along the way. It's a blatant cry for attention, but she almost doesn't care. She can't stop wanting him – wanting to touch him, wanting him to touch her. She knows she wants too much, wants more than he can give her right now, so if what she gets is a smile at her cleverness instead of an exultant kiss when they escape, she'll take it. For now.

She's just finished a brutal Lent Term when he turns up next, thankfully significantly advanced in his own timeline. She walks into her rooms and he's leaning against the doorframe as if he lives there too. "Hello, sweetie," she says.

"I need a hand with – " he starts, and she drops a stack of exams to be graded all over the floor and practically tackles him, kissing him hungrily.

He kisses her back before pulling away. "No time," he says, and they're off to save the world again. They destroy a nest of Tarnuvian sea slugs that was breeding in the Cam (she makes a mental note to shift the odds on the boat race, this year, because all that airborne slime must have been terrible for the oarsmen's lungs), and when they stagger back to the TARDIS covered in unspeakably disgusting goo, she's high on adrenaline.

She joins him in the shower, and if she's a little rougher than usual, leaves more marks, he is delightfully, reassuringly, exactly the same as he always has been, or will be. It's not until they're clean and warm and no longer smelling like Tarnuvian sewers that he asks.

She considers not telling him, but she's always prided herself on her honesty. Even so, she can't look at him, instead fidgeting at the tie of her dressing gown as she speaks. "You were very young the last time I met you," she says.

"Really? Can't have been that long ago. When was it?" he asks.

"Gibraltar, in the twenty-ninth century," and she hears a soft sound of understanding. "It's just, it was the first time I've seen you so young," she says quickly. "It was a bit... well. I'm glad to have you back." She reaches across and touches his hand, and it's his turn to look away.

"What, what is it?" she asks, her stomach clenching.

"River," he says, taking her hand. "You can't tell me about any of this. When I'm like that, I mean. You'll meet me a few more times before I... understand you – "

"How many?" she interrupts.

"I can't answer that. You'll just count them down, and then... well. It's better you don't know," he says awkwardly. "But you have to trust me. If I learn too much, too soon, it could change everything we know about each other." His grip is almost painful, but she doesn't want to let go. "When I ask too many questions, when I don't know that I don't need to know everything, you have to keep our secrets." He pauses and looks her in the eyes. "Promise me."

She's proud her voice is steady when she replies, "Of course I do. As long as I get you back? Then I don't mind being the know-it-all for a change." She smiles and he kisses her, and she forgets that he never really answers her.

It's easier, then, to see him sometimes and know that what they share doesn't exist for him yet. She does enjoy teasing him, because he'll give as good as he gets next time she sees the real him, and she uses that to keep a smile on her face.

It hurts, though, not to be able to touch him when she wants to, and sometimes she can barely stop herself from leaning over and whispering in his ear. _You, me, the cabanas in the library pool,_ she'd say, or _Want to know how I learned about your taste for Denubiian chocolate sauce?_ or _My sister, the one I told you about, the one I haven't heard from in decades, she sent me a message last week and I don't know how to answer._ She wants to be able to talk to him about anything, and instead she has to censor half the jokes she nearly makes. But she does trust him, with her life, multiple times over, and so she stays silent.

When the day comes that his eyes do sweep right past her, it's worse than she expected; all the breath leaves her lungs. There's no time to dwell on it; she's too busy trying to help him save her crew, and they work together almost as well as they always have, even if he doesn't know it yet. She can't stop the pained squeeze of her heart every time he looks through her without knowing who they are to each other.

She's not just anyone, but she is to him, and she can't handle that; it's oddly freeing to be able to whisper his name in his ear, like she has so many times before. She has to break his own rules and she hates it, but there's no other way to prove that she's not trying to trick him, and after all he must have known this would happen when he made her promise. Next time, she thinks, she'll give him hell for that.

She holds on to that thought, clutches it to herself like a mantra every time she wants him to trust her, to just grow up, to be the man she knows he will be. Next time, she's making him take her somewhere special. Better than Asgard, better than the Singing Towers. He's really going to have to work to make this up to her, she thinks.

And then it's like she watches him become the man she loves, all in one instant as he rushes, manic, from one console to another, ripping out wires and preparing to give his life for everyone else's. Suddenly she knows, knows that there's only one way out, that she'll never get a next time to make up for the horrible hole in her heart today. All she can do is give him the future she's already had.

Those amazing memories run through her head as she frantically twists wires together. They're not enough, incredible as they were, and all she wants is to tell him everything, so that in the future she can have more chances to love him. She can't, though, not even at the last. What they had will never be enough for her, but she can't tell him that. She knows him, and if she does, he'll never forget, never be able to enjoy himself during the good times. Better to be glad for what they had, and hope someday he can be as well.

When she fastens the handcuffs, she can't resist leaning down and kissing him, one last time. He stirs at her touch and she retreats, wiring herself into the chair before he comes fully awake. It's the only honest goodbye she can give. He's always known how she was going to die, and as she closes her eyes she hopes that even with everything she couldn't say, he'll always know it was worth it.


End file.
